


Pacific Standard Time

by laliquey



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Adoption, Community: tsn_kinkmeme, Gen, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-19 06:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1459315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laliquey/pseuds/laliquey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-settlement: Mark keeps a distant eye on Eduardo and believes time will heal their rift & Eduardo will come back to him. When Eduardo adopts a kid & gets on with his life, Mark realizes he doesn't have a hold on him at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From the awesome kinkmeme prompt [here](http://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/12119.html?thread=21680471).

Not even geography can keep them apart, Mark knows. Not really.  
  
If Eduardo was _that_ hurt he'd stay away, but he's always prompt to return proxy votes and attends maybe every other invitational function in person. Sometimes he'll even do that half handshake half hug thing so their cheeks touch for a second, and Mark's confident he could still have him any time he wants. Not that he ever _has_ had him, but come on. He knew. Everybody knew.  
  
He speaks to Eduardo in secret, frequently and telepathically. _I know you know I'm eating ten pixy stix, even though you're on the other side of the world, and I can't believe you had to physically take yourself so far away. It's okay, Wardo. It'll work out, and you know why? I know you can't stop thinking about me. Because you always had it a thousand times worse than I did and I can't stop thinking about you._  
  
Of course the adoption creates a massive buzz at work. Eduardo's kind of an absentee office legend already, and Mark's nerves tingle at the news that he's now father to a little girl from Brasilia. She's three, and his heart about jumps out of his chest when he sees the first pictures of them, Eduardo carrying her slung on his hip like he's been doing it forever. She clings to his shirt in a flowered sundress and tiny sandals, with eyes so dark and expressive she could be his.  
  
The media interest is initially fueled by the novelty of a billionaire single father, but the focus intensifies once it's known how photogenic he and little Beatriz are. Her ladybug-themed bedroom is featured in _Parenting_ magazine, which Mark can't believe he buys a copy of. The picture of Eduardo brushing her hair makes his heart hurt, and he stays home from work to watch the puff piece the Today show does on them. It's set in the little classroom that occupies a corner of Eduardo's living room - apparently Beatriz loves to play school, and Wardo's skinny ass is perched on a kid-sized chair next to her. His legs stretch out for miles and he looks relaxed and happy – older, yet younger somehow.  
  
“How has being a father changed you?” the NBC correspondent asks.  
  
“In about a billion ways,” he says, which Mark interprets as a secret nod to him. “You know that romantic, obsessive kind of love you fall into when you're young? The kind that feels good but it's borderline horrible?” He loses his thoughts for a moment, hypnotized by his daughter. “I thought that was the height of what life had to offer, but it's not. It's not even close.”  
  
The clearly smitten interviewer leans forward; it has not escaped Mark that she's taken every possible opportunity to touch his knee. “So you had that kind of affection once,” she smiles. “Who was it for?”  
  
“I don't remember,” he laughs.  
  
“Come on!”  
  
“I guess what I'm saying is that real happiness doesn't let you throw your energy into a vacuum, you know? A few years ago I didn't know I could ever be this happy. But I am. Being a father eclipses everything.” He looks down fondly at Beatriz and pats her knee. “You're my favorite,” he says, and she leans against him and laughs with a tiny voice like a bell.  
  
There's a cutaway to Eduardo pouring cereal in a beautifully sunny kitchen and a voice over about the US tax implications of capital gains. Back in the little classroom, the interviewer asks if he feels isolated in Singapore. “No,” Eduardo says. “We've got friends here. But sometimes it might be nice to live closer to her grandparents.”  
  
“You'd need a visa to visit for any extended length of time, right?”  
  
“Yeah, something like that,” he says, and Mark detects a note of sadness.  
  
“Do you ever regret renouncing your US citizenship?”  
  
He thinks carefully before answering. “No. I had reasons for that.”  
  
“It doesn't sound like they were purely financial.”  
  
“They weren't.”  
  
“What were they?”  
  
“It helped end a part of my life that had dragged on for too long.” He looks thoughtfully at the floor, then back at the interviewer with all the confidence in the world. “But my citizenship isn't important. The only thing that's important is my Bea. Right, peanut?”

Beatriz nods with such vigor her chair almost tips, and he scoops her up and hugs her until she squeaks. The video cuts to the interviewer back in the New York studio, gushing about how Eduardo made her a flawless gin gimlet after the interview. “He's single,” the co-anchor chides, and Mark thinks _Um, no._ He's not.  
  
The imaginary conversations with Eduardo darken that morning. Mark tries to negotiate, but has no feel for Eduardo's side anymore. It's like he's lost him. To a three year old. It's tempting to orchestrate a mandatory shareholders function, like a Himalayan zipline adventure that kids aren't invited to, but then he remembers how Sheryl once said, “When you're in a tight spot, consider about how people would react to the _opposite_ of your social instincts. I love you and would never try to change you, but just think about it. That's all I'm saying.”  
  
Mark decides to send Beatriz a present.  
  
He finds himself in the kind of store that sells unbleached cotton diapers, and maybe it's throwing his energy (and fifty bucks) into a vacuum, but he buys a little pair of wool scuffs with ladybugs embroidered on the tops. He drafts several unforgivably twee notes to Beatriz herself, but then writes to Eduardo and sends the package before he can change his mind.

 

_Dear Eduardo,_   
  
_Please give Beatriz my best regards and_   
_these ladybug slippers._   
  
_Parenthood suits you. I'm happy that_   
_you're happy._   
  
_\- Mark_

 

Eduardo sends curt thanks in the margin of a scribbly picture Bea drew, which Mark magnets to his refrigerator like a Powerball ticket. He then works out their time difference and works up the nerve to call. “I saw your strawberry popsicle recipe in that magazine. I haven't made 'em yet, but they sound really good.”  
  
“They are really good,” Eduardo says suspiciously. “You're a _Parenting_ subscriber?”  
  
“No, somebody gave it to me. Anyway, I'm calling about the next shareholders meeting.”  
  
“What about it?”  
  
“You know how we always have organized drinks the night before to loosen everybody up?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Well now that everybody's having kids...” Only two other people in the office have them, but still. “It's kid-friendly thing. So bring yours. It'll be fun.”  
  
“I'll think about it,” Eduardo says, and a week later he RSVPs that he and Beatriz will come.  
  
*  
  
Mark's preparation for the meeting is reduced to one thing, and it isn't revenue projections or development strategy. It's what three year olds like to eat, and he gets the Four Seasons catering department to turn out a low table full of little sandwiches cut into scalloped flower shapes. There will also be apple slices, ants on a log, and a silver dish brimming with gummyworms.  
  
The night of the event, he's twitching with nerves and eats a little crustless sandwich every so often to make sure they're not drying out. Sheryl chose all the complicated-looking grownup food and he can barely listen to her explain it all because he's giddy about seeing Eduardo. How titillating to think that they're in the same hemisphere, in the same _building!_ “Do I look okay?” he asks. “Any jelly in the corners of my mouth?”  
  
“No,” Sheryl says, and he misses the rest of her sentence because Eduardo's there.  
  
He's in serious black and carrying his daughter; after saying a few things in her ear, he gently sets her down and holds her hand. Mark watches from across the room as she discovers the little table of kid food and Eduardo grows increasingly animated as he's surrounded by old friends.

Mark waits for an opening to make a faux-casual approach, and Eduardo pulls him in with a bone-crushing handshake. He's somehow even more beautiful than he used to be. “Hi.”  
  
“Hey, it's good to see you. This must be Beatriz.” She's even prettier than in pictures, and wearing a velvety blue dress with sparkles sewn on. Mark waves awkwardly, and even _more_ awkwardly asks Eduardo out the side of his mouth whether she speaks Portuguese or English.  
  
“Both,” Eduardo says, unoffended. “Can you say hi to Mark, honey?”  
  
She looks down and sways. Eduardo gives her a nudge, but then turns to absorb Dustin launching himself into his arms. There's a lot of back-pounding and noise, which leaves Mark and Beatriz more or less alone for a moment.

“I hear you're into ladybugs,” Mark says to shy silence. “Do you like the little sandwiches?” Beatriz nods, which is encouraging. “Since you like to play school, I'll bet you know what letter that is over there.” He points to the iconic f-shaped ice sculpture decorating the grownups' spread. “It's made of ice, do you wanna go look at it with me?” She nods, and Mark interrupts the reunion with Dustin to say, “We're gonna go look at the ice sculpture.”  
  
“Yeah, okay,” Eduardo says, and Mark feels his heart swell as Beatriz trustingly takes his hand and they walk over to the grownups' buffet.  
  
He has to slow down so he doesn't drag her, but once he gets the hang of it, he's fine. Sheryl did a kickass job with the details - the ice sculpture is three feet high and lit blue from below. “Pretty cool, right?” Mark says. “I'll lift you up to touch it, if you want.” Beatriz smiles at him and it's so intoxicating he has to see it again, so he picks her up and lets her _stand on the table._ The enchantment is mutual at that point, and she pets the smooth curve of the lowercase f while Mark keeps a hand on her back so she won't fall. She's so light, so delicate and small he kind of wants to carry her around. No wonder Eduardo lives for this.  
  
Eduardo keeps a watchful eye on them from across the room, but when Beatriz starts _hugging_ the ice sculpture, he waves them back over. Mark plucks her down off the table and she races to her father's feet with an animated report in a mix of their two languages. Mark's pretty sure she's telling him how great he is and he stands close to Eduardo, cautiously triumphant. “You wanna get a drink?” he asks.  
  
“I'd better not,” Eduardo says. “In fact, I might take her up to the room. It's taken two weeks to get her on Pacific time, and I don't want to throw her sleep schedule off.” He strokes her hair as she slumps against his leg, holding his index finger in one hand.

“Are you coming back down later?”  
  
Eduardo's nose wrinkles. “You think I'd leave my daughter alone in a hotel room?”  
  
“No, but don't you have a nanny or something? You're scheduled for five hours of meetings tomorrow, and...”  
  
“My mother flew over.”  
  
“Is she here now?”  
  
“Is that any of your business?”  
  
“I'm sorry. It's just that I never see you anymore and I hoped we could spend some time together.” Eduardo bites his lip, and the silence is so heavy Mark's compelled to fill it. “I've been thinking about you a lot lately, and...I don't know. It feels like we have some unfinished business.” Eduardo looks him over slowly, and Mark stiffens because he senses it's not in a good way.  
  
“Why aren't there any other kids here tonight?”  
  
“Uh, I don't know. I guess they're all busy.”  
  
Eduardo shakes his head; he's measured it all, and he knows. “You're trying way too hard.”  
  
“I don't know what you're talking about.”  
  
“Oh, I think you do.” Eduardo gently covers Beatriz's ears before saying, “There isn't room in my life for you or your bullshit anymore.”  
  
“That's not true,” Mark says. “I'm bullshit-free now. Plus, there's room. You've got the biggest heart of anyone I know.” Because he'd stretched it grotesquely far out of shape, but still.  
  
“Your timing sucks,” Eduardo says quietly, and re-covers Bea's ears. “And fuck you for dragging my kid into this.”  
  
“I'm not dragging anyone anywhere, and if you said 'fudge you,' you wouldn't have to do that.”  
  
Eduardo bends to lift Bea up into his arms. “I'm not in the mood for this. I'll see you tomorrow.”  
  
“Wardo...”  
  
“No. Goodnight.” He turns to leave the room, and Mark locks eyes over his shoulder with Beatriz. She gives him a sad little wave, and they're gone.

Sheryl's suddenly beside him with her hand on his back. “Are you okay?”

“No,” he says, and does the opposite of his instincts and _hugs_ her. “I think I'm in love with him.”

“I wondered about that.”

“I think he comes to these meetings so he can see his family and he doesn't give a shit about Facebook or me anymore.” Sheryl pats his back, and suddenly his instinct and its opposite fuse into a single mission and he breaks out of her arms and races to a house phone.

“Front desk, how may I help you?”

“Connect me to Eduardo Saverin's room, please?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

They're probably still on their way up, and Mark leaves a rushed message after five empty rings. “Wardo, it's me. I know Bea's on Pacific time, but if you aren't, you should call me because you're gonna be up all night anyway. I'm headed home right now. Okay. I think we should work on this. At least let me try. Okay. Bye.”

He takes a pocketful of gummyworms and goes home to wait.

He cracks a beer and changes from dress clothes to casual, then back again, just in case. A second and third beer render him hypnotized in front of the television, so lost in infomercials he almost forgets what he's waiting for.

Almost.

At 4:00 am he heads to bed, considering he's got a meeting to run in a few hours and he doesn't want to look like shit for it. He has a theory why Eduardo hasn't called, and it's not because he hates him, or that he's outgrown the misery that Mark's wallowing in right now.

He's probably just on Pacific time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation where there's slight resolution - maybe even hope if you squint!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's for jemima_abu, who is so darn nice and shook some new ideas loose.

Mark aches in the morning, the acid lurking in the corners of his joints gradually slipping into circulation once he fully wakes and gets going.

Tiredness dialed up to eleven isn't new for him, but this is a more powerful type he feels might suit someone recovering from a dire operation. He hasn't slept well all week, and last night, thinking Eduardo might call, well...that's probably where his headache's coming from. Jawing though two dozen gummyworms while stressed was another cause, but the knowledge that he fucked up - _again_ \- sank in overnight and he's not sure why he thought his shallow little plan would work. It's embarrassing now, and he can't wait for the meeting to end so Eduardo can get back to his blissfully Mark-free life.

He deserves it.

Mark dresses in something not too try-hard, not too sloppy and drives back to the hotel. Arrangements dictate that every non-alcoholic beverage imaginable will be available on a table in back of the Muir Suite, including sweat-beaded cans of Red Bull on ice but none of it sounds good. He remembers a little closet-sized shop selling necessities off the side of the lobby...they probably have Tylenol, which he definitely needs before heading up to the fifth floor. It's like his brain's leaking every caustic, selfish thought he's ever had and it's cooking in its own poison.

His temple pulses dangerously at the sight of Eduardo crossing the lobby, holding Bea's hand while she concentrates on stepping only on certain shapes in the carpet pattern. She looks up from her dance long enough to recognize Mark and starts pulling Eduardo toward him. It feels safe enough to stand there and wait, and he manages a submissive, "Good morning."

A musical sentence tumbles out of Beatriz which Mark doesn't understand. 

"What did she just say?"

Eduardo's serious but cordial. "She called you the ice man."

Apropos, given their history. "Oh."

"We just had lemon ricotta pancakes for breakfast. They were good."

"Nice." Mark barely knows what those are but getting to talk like this is such a bonus his entire body wants to hum, but then he remembers the message from last night and wishes he hadn't left it. It's probably too much to hope for a technical malfunction...

Eduardo looks at him suspiciously. "Why are you conveniently in the lobby if our meeting's on the fifth floor?"

"Tylenol. Looking for some. If that little shop by the front desk has any. I've got a headache."

"Let me guess. You want to go lie down in my room 'cause it's closer than your house."

Mark's confused, then slightly insulted "No. Look, things that seemed like a great idea yesterday I recognize are idiotic now and I want to forget it as much as you do. I'm sorry."

Eduardo nods slightly, embarrassed by association. "You do look kind of terrible," he finally says, and gestures with a fingertip. "I can see it between your eyes. I know a trick, though. Give me your hand."

It's feels like it might be a trap, but Mark offers a paw and Eduardo presses hard into the pad between his thumb and forefinger, so hard it feels like concentrated revenge for all Mark's done.

"Jeez, Wardo!" 

"Shh. Let it soak in. It'll get better."

Typical Wardo, smoothing his daughter's hair with one hand and pinching Mark with the other, spreading himself to help two people at once.

When Eduardo lets go the headache's shadow lingers on Mark's periphery but it's largely gone. "Holy crap."

"Language," Eduardo says, and Beatriz holds up her little palm for a squeeze.

"Okay." He delicately takes her little hand and presses. She smiles, then feigns pain for a moment.

"Gee, Wardo!"

"I'm not Wardo. I'm your daddy."

"Wardo." She giggles and brandishes it like a weapon.

He lifts her up and tips so their foreheads touch. "Pai."

"War-do!"

 _"Pai."_ The word curls irresistibly at the end and their little back and forth continues. "Pai!"

Mark is so charmed he can't stand it. It's obscene that he'd wanted to inject himself into the happiness Eduardo's made for himself, and he wants to apologize more but Eduardo's so busy and content he couldn't possibly want to hear it, right?

_Right?_

The monster headache almost resurfaces when Beatriz runs to her grandmother heading their way. He's seen pictures of Eduardo's mother but this is his first in-person view and it's absolutely terrifying. 

"Oh." Sour recognition mars her pretty face when she sees Mark but then she forces a tight, closed-mouth smile. "Hello." 

"Hi." She's just being polite but it's so much better than it could be. If Roberto Saverin was on babysitting duty Mark's quite certain he'd get punched, and not in a final club way.

"We're about to go up. Thank you, mãe." 

Mark studies their fluid affection, the hand on her arm, the cheek kiss, and then Eduardo kneels down to Beatriz's level. "I have to go, honey." 

"Não."

He says it again in colorful twists of Portuguese and she starts getting upset with him.

"Não!"

More Portuguese, quick and pleading. _Daddy has to work. It won't take long and we'll play when I'm done. Swim or go get an ice cream. I love you. Be a good girl for grandma._

His mother takes over with gentle talk that turns Beatriz around and gets her excited about something else. They share another affectionate goodbye and it's just Mark and Eduardo.

They walk wordlessly to the elevator and Mark presses five and there's something about Wardo that's different, like a slump and a sadness.

"We aren't apart that much," he explains. "It's hard."

"There's a twenty minute break at ten. And most of the important stuff's before noon if you want to blow off the rest."

"Nah. That's okay."

Mark doesn't understand his dedication at all, not now and certainly not when they were friends, and it's taken a day to work out some kinks but he believes he's a better man just standing in an elevator with him. Magazines and news outlets like to frame Mark's power and influence as massive, but it's always felt abstract and faraway to him. He really ought to get serious about giving to charity...and maybe he'll even get a dog. Start small on his quest to become a better human, now that he's had a miserable taste of pain.

Eduardo gets out his phone. "Guess I should shut this off." He shows Mark the background picture of his daughter first, smiling with a real ladybug on her cheek like a beauty mark.

"Cute."

Mark decides to be honest and not pretend to love all of Eduardo's ideas if he voices any today. He's going to be himself but better, and maybe it'll pay off with Eduardo and maybe it won't, but already he feels better than he did a week ago. About Eduardo and, possibly more important, in general.

The elevator doors open and they both stand there, waiting for the other. A hundred thoughts race through Mark's newly firing brain. 

_Okay, I'm CEO, bitch, but he's like a guest or something._

_I'm an asshole, he should go first._

_Come on, Wardo. Go!_

Eduardo gives him a little push at the small of his back and walks out right behind him.

It's like the opposite of that headache.

"This'll be good," Eduardo says as the walk down the hall. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Yeah. Me too," Mark agrees, and hopes maybe someday Eduardo will see the change in him, like he'd seen the headache earlier.

He even feels a little bit taller.


End file.
